Candle Burning Low
by Ramzes
Summary: He could have been another Jaehaerys the Old King, people said. Instead, he's a dying man faced with all his failings. What does death look like for a stern, bitter man like Viserys Targaryen, the Second of His Name?
_Candle Burning Low_

"He's fighting bears already?"

The question was asked in such a serious voice that the man looked up, startled and unsure that he had heard right. She smiled at him innocently and after a moment, he bestowed one of his rare smiles back upon her.

"I'm being quite the doting great-grandfather, is that what you're saying?"

"You think?"

Of course he did. His enchantment with the little Dornish-looking toddler – the very _loud_ Dornish-looking toddler – was ridiculous even in his own eyes. People had started whispering that the King was not himself. That age had started catching up with him. Sometimes, even he wondered. At the time, he had been quite surprised to find that a child's company, Daeron's, might be so pleasing to him but even then, his grandson had been two or three and capable or reasonable communication when he had started noticing him. But Baelor had been mere days old when he had laid claim to Viserys' heart. He was just so charming, with that grin saying that he knew that he shouldn't do this or that so he'd hurry up and do it anyway, lest they caught and stopped him.

"He is fighting bears," Viserys confirmed. Of course, those were _toy_ bears, just like the ones that had been hung on a string over the babe's cradle for him to catch – noisily. "What?" he asked, noticing her hesitation. "What is it that you're… afraid to ask me?"

He said the word slowly, with surprise. In the ten years of their relationship, Amara had never been afraid to ask him anything, tell him anything.

"Do you want me to take you to the Red Keep?" he asked, the thought quite displeasing to him. Sure, he had brought women there over the years before Baelor and his sickness had ascended but with time, he had found out that his discreet visit to this house at Rhaenys's Hill were even better, if he could overlook the danger of Baelor finding out, of course. Here, he could rest and be simply who he was, instead of the most powerful and overworked man in the Seven Kingdoms. Here, in this not so great abode, peace came upon him. His life already belonged to everyone else. If he took Amara there, she and their relationship would also belong to everyone, somewhat. And after Aegon's excesses, the very idea of having an official mistress didn't sit well with him despite their vastly different circumstances. He thought Amara understood. Perhaps he had expected too much understanding from her – as he had with Larra?

She looked at him, horrified. "By the Seven, no!"

"Good," he said calmly but reached over to touch her hand. The daughter of a minor lord would have fit in the Red Keep even less than the highborn Lyseni lady had. And in a way, Amara's leaving would be even worse than Larra's. He no longer had decades of youth spanning before of him to heal. _Does one heal of loneliness_ , he wondered. He'd been so terribly lonely after Aegon's death, in those years he had been needed to keep the realm from falling apart. Sometimes, when he felt in particularly low spirits, he was still of the mind to order Rhaena to move to the capital, although she, of course, would never do it.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

She looked down, her brown eyes suddenly hesitant. "I've heard that you intend to pass your son over in the succession."

"Where did you hear this?"

His voice lashed at her like a whip. She actually backed down, for the first time truly scared of him. He was no longer the man who provided her with whatever comforts she asked for, the one who sought simplicity and relaxation with her. He was the powerful King, the one whom love of war and reign of madness hadn't deterred.

Viserys realized that he had been too stern. Even by his own standards. "Forgive me," he said, quietly this time. "But I need to know where you heard this. Who said it to you? It's important, Amara."

"So it's true," she breathed, pallor claiming her cheeks. "You'll declare your grandson your heir."

He sighed. "I don't want to talk about that," he said. "Rest assured that I'll do what's best for the realm."

He thought that she'd insist on receiving an answer. Instead, she gave him a long look and poured him a goblet of wine. "You're terribly tired, aren't you?" she asked and he drew a finger down her hand.

"Yes," he said. "I am."

Perhaps he had been too lenient with Aegon? Or too stern? Why had the boy turned out the way he had, with Viserys feeling that he had no choice but deprive him of the throne? Or Naerys, with her piety? She wasn't queen material either. She could never reign over a court. She was too devoted to her gods. Could he have changed things if he had paid more attention to his children when they were little? He had been too consumed in his own pain, his grief, his obligations. "And just too young to be an adequate father," Amara had told him more than once and he wanted to believe her but he couldn't, not fully.

"Will you stay the night?" she asked. Since he had been crowned, his visits had become increasingly short, just a few hours of stolen quiet. Startled, Viserys realized that he couldn't even remember the last time they had made love. Worse yet, he hadn't felt the absence of this intimacy. He was too occupied with other things – the new mint, the trading and yes, making the final decision about his succession. Perhaps he could stay, despite the sudden fear, for the first time in his life, that he might be unable to perform. Not with his mind being in the state it was. But he could spend the evening and night with her. Her affection was the antidote to the life in the Red Keep when almost no one ever sought his company unless they desired something.

It hadn't always been like this but he couldn't blame anyone for what had been, essentially, his own failing.

"I can't," he said reluctantly. "The Small Council will convene at dawn."

Still, he could stay another hour. It was better than nothing. He pushed the goblet towards her and said warningly, "And, Amara, don't ever repeat this rumour." He paused. "It could be dangerous."

"It isn't I who should worry, then," she said quietly and came around the table to press her cheek against his back as she had first done years ago, when they had both been younger and in her brown hair, there had been no wisps of grey.

* * *

In the beginning, he thought it was just a summer chill. Then, he thought it was just something that he ate that didn't agree with him. It would pass soon, surely. But when he started waking up soaking in sweat, when his vision started blurring, cramps came upon his entire body all of a sudden and ache settled low in his belly, he realized that he had gone down with something very serious indeed.

Of course, he wouldn't let that crush him. He worked from his solar. Then, he worked from his bed. But when he started blackening out, not remembering what he had been reading moments ago, he knew that he needed to stop before he made a bad mistake somewhere.

The Grand Maester shook his head, murmuring about how he had never heard of such a thing, an illness that made everything hurt, from skin to belly. Even then, the thought of death did not startle Viserys. Oh he thought he might die but he had long ago stopped fearing it, at least when it was him that the Stranger was coming for. That ship, the horrors that had befallen him in Lys had made him indifferent to this fear. He only felt panic that he might not be able to finish what he had started. If Daeron was here at least! But he was in the Riverlands, being the negotiator between warring parties in this region that knew nothing but war. Viserys himself had sent him there. The boy could do with the task at hand, he felt sure at that, and it would win him popular support. He'd need it when Viserys would made his decision public.

But now the situation had turned. Daeron wasn't here and Aegon had arrived from Dragonstone uninvited, leaving Naerys in her state behind and behaving as if he already sat in Viserys' place, if rumours could be believed. Mariah had confirmed that he was being unusually active, meeting with important lords and officials. Even with members of the Small Council! Could he know, Viserys wondered, stunned. Why not? If Amara did, what was to stop him?

Of course, in his new activities Aegon never found the time to visit his father. Viserys was almost pleased. He didn't feel up to arguing with his eldest again. In Daeron's absence, Mariah was the only one who came over regularly, with little Baelor, and Viserys expected those visits as if he would have expected sunrise after a long, long night. He always insisted to be dressed and sitting in his chair when the young woman came in, holding the hand of the toddler who filled Viserys' glum bedchamber with laughter and excitement. But the shadows under Mariah's eyes became darker with every visit.

"Is Aegon not treating you well?" Viserys asked.

"No, not at all," she replied way, way too quickly. She looked away and Viserys suddenly wondered if she was scared of Aegon. For Baelor. For herself. Daeron was far away and the Seven knew that right now, Viserys couldn't offer her much protection.

He couldn't say when the certainly that he'd die crept in. Perhaps it had been the moment when he had thought it so strange that Aegon had come right now. When any of his symptoms failed to fade. When Aemon would no longer look him in the eye.

What surprised him most was how little surprised he was. Even as a boy, Aegon had been coveting the Iron Throne – and he was not prone to waiting. Rumour had it that he was Daena's father's child. The ugly thought that his son might have seduced her just to leave her with child and thus undermine her position when Baelor's inevitable death had been drawing close had already crossed Viserys' mind. Why should the murder of the father he had never been close stop Aegon? The embittered, hurt, disappointed side that had laid claim on Viserys' personality decades ago had almost expected it, yet the pain was unbearable and unexpected. That _was_ his son who might have…

Now, fear claimed him. Fear that he'd be unable to finish what he had started. Fear for those he loved. Would Aemon find it in him to stand against Aegon to protect Naerys once Aegon wore the crown? If Viserys died now, would Mariah and Baelor be put somewhere in secret to be used against Daeron? Even Amara wasn't safe. Aegon could go after her for no better reason than spite, despite the fact that she had never taken anything away from him. And the shameful fear that he was trying to smother, only to have it emerge back at night, the knowledge that he was dying alone, with no one of the few who cared being close. His entire life, he had thought that doing his best for the realm, putting his heart and soul into it would be enough to let the demons rest, find peace, help himself out of the precipice that letting himself depend on another person, Larra, for his happiness had driven him in. He had succeeded but he had created another demon in the process, one that had been lying in wait patiently for decades, secure in its knowledge that it'd have its chance to pounce at him when he was at his weakest. The demon of finding himself isolated, abandoned, alone. _Again?_ an old voice whispered in his head but he chased it away. The past had been Aegon's torment, not his.

As his focus grew weaker, they started creeping behind his shoulder to visit him at night, old shades as vivid as if he had last seen them just an hour ago. He had never known that they had been standing close in all his trials. His mother, her hands obsessively turning her rings. His father's thunderous laughter. Jace, the sea claiming him before Viserys' wide terrified eyes. Aegon, pale and gaunt, grief and guilt wrapping him like a shroud and Visery could do nothing to remove them in death, just like he had never been able in life. Baela, as beautiful and terrible as no other. From time to time, he had gone to her last place of rest to touch the urn and wonder how that could be Baela, was it possible that she was now at peace, without the torment of a painful skin, without the gallop of wild horses or the stern look when one of her children had done something inappropriate. Larra who had forever stayed young and beautiful as he had grown old. Her arrival surprised him, even in his dazed state. He had stopped longing for her decades ago, although bitterness had never completely left him.

Past was now coming back, that was his life, the rest of it was an illusion… until he woke up in the black of night and realized that there was no one there, no one but the dozing servant to lift his head and help him drink to soothe his burning throat. No one to stay with him and hold his hand through the pain that seemed to get worse at night. No one to keep him company in the long hours of doing nothing that he wasn't accustomed to. And no one was to blame. He had done it to himself.

"Do you want us to… send for someone, Your Grace?" Mariah asked carefully at one of her daily visits, taking him aback. He understood immediately what she was talking about. His relationship with Amara wasn't a secret but it wasn't an object of interest either, the stupid woman who wanted of the Hand, now King,nothing but enough means to live comfortably not meriting attention. Still, the great ladies at court never showed that they knew about the existence of such a woman. But Dorne was Dorne.

"No," he said slowly. "Thank you but not."

As much as he wanted to have Amara near, have her tend him and just sit by him, it was too dangerous. He had already had her removed from the city, out of Aegon's reach. He only wished he could do the same for Mariah and Baelor.

Could he write his last decree in a will and hand it to her or someone else? No, there would be no use. Aegon would no doubt have in mind that Viserys might try something like this. He'd find the parchment and destroy it, turning against Mariah and Daeron even more. Was Daeron's position strong enough to let him win such a battle, Viserys wondered and had to admit that the answer was no. Not yet. The boy was just too young. Despair gripped him once again and he couldn't even summon an interest in Baelor's antics.

There was a flash of sympathy on Mariah's face and she asked, "Can I do something for you, Your Grace?"

He looked at her. Mariah was a kind girl but she couldn't be what he longed for. And she shouldn't. It was enough that she kept coming. A young woman of love and laughter like her didn't belong in this dark bedchamber where the Stranger reigned. Rhaena was far away, at Oldtown, and that was where she should be in such terrible weather. Of Aemon, he couldn't ask anything – he had given him so little.

From this day on, he started deteriorating even faster. Faced with the failure of what he had worked for all his life, deprived of the comfort of a close presence, wondering if his terrible suspicion could be true, he had little incentive to try and keep his mind alive as his joints swelled, his eyes glazed over and the ache in his lower belly wouldn't let him take more than a few bites. Ghosts came closer and stayed longer, places that he had long forgotten flooding his mind. He was surprised to find out that his memory was able to reproduce the stench of the Tyroshi ship and the streets of Lys.

His own helplessness, vulnerability, fear broke through the haze, filling him with anger yet too strong to let anger break them. He had vowed aboard that ship, he had vowed that he'd never be this scared and vulnerable again and yet here he was, in his own magnificent bed, shaking and wishing for someone to just sit by, like a bloody child. The formidable Viserys Targaryen! How gods must be laughing!

"They aren't," a soft voice said. "Why do you think they are?"

He looked up at once, at first not believing that he had heard her. The movement made his neck scream with pain.

"Here," Rhaena said quickly, helping him lie back. "Don't move. Where do you hurt?"

"Everywhere," he breathed, still unsure that she was here, not understanding how it had come to be.

He had last seen her just about a year ago, at the time of his coronation. She still looked the same but there was this vacant, haunted look in her eyes that he hated to see, hated to know that it was because of him that it had returned. She leaned over and held him in loose arms, scared that she'd press on a place where she shouldn't. All of him was pain, yet faint joy was slowly pushing his fear away.

"I'm sorry," he said abruptly when she sat by the bed and took his hand. "I didn't want to leave you alone."

She looked away but he could see her throat working. The weak one, people always said, comparing her to Baela's strength, Baela's fire, Baela's _dragon_. They didn't understand that sometimes, strength meant to keep tears at bay for hours until one was left alone in their bedroom. "I'll be fine," she said. "And you won't die." She turned back and there were no tears as she looked at him with a brilliant smile. "I'm fine. Do you see?"

 _Not alone_ , Viserys thought. _I won't die alone._ He closed his eyes and felt her hand caress his cheek, ever so tenderly before Rhaena took his palm between her own warm hands. He almost smiled. "I am content."

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
